Rising Tempest
by Natalie Nallareet
Summary: When Pitch Black emerged from his years of recluse, he was not unprepared. The Nightmare King's new powers are capable of transforming the Guardians themselves, into something cruel, dark, and wretched, something that carries with it the very opposite of their hope, joy, and wonder, and that leaves the world's children with nothing to cling to but shadows. Nightmare!Guardians AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/C** I cowrote this with the shiny, talented user 2806257, who's always been my beta. We switch off writing every other chapter, with me starting off. Starts during the fight scene that destroys Sandy, but taking a different turn that creates the rest of the AU.

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An ebony cloud of destructive nightmares swirled through the sky, biting away at the stars and even at the light of the moon. The six of them hung in the air, thrashing to the beat of the glistening cold grains of the black sand that twirled through the air.

The four Guardians clung to the sleigh as it thrust them forward into the night sky that bristled with fear. No, they didn't cling; they all were sprung at the very edge of the sleigh, ready to jump into the action despite how tremendous the fall was beneath them. North steered them forward, towards the mass of black, towards the spark of light that gleamed through all the nightmare sand. Jack and Bunny stood shoulder to shoulder, against the bite of the wind, ready to launch up into the nest of fear that was encasing the glimmer. Tooth posed directly behind them, her feathers spiked up into the flashy colors that warned her opposers so clearly to beware.

But, of course, the entity they were facing now was the very essence of fear, who wouldn't simply back down because they appeared as a formidable foe. Instead, he continued to spin his web, blocking out the one light left in the sky. That radiance was the Sandman, his hair pricked up in defiance, whips of dreamsand emanating from his hands, fighting so desperately against Pitch. The two of them stood, outlined against the grey of clouds, one diminishing into the shadows while the other glowed like the sun. But this wasn't a sun that could heat up the entire world, and, as the other Guardians watched, desperately flying through the sky towards him, the glow of his dreamsand seemed to be waning, weakening.

And if they lost Sandy... no, Jack couldn't even consider that. Sandy had always been there, for all of them, with the rest of the Guardians and the winter spirit, too; a constant shimmering reminder of happiness. Most importantly, he was there for the children, lighting up their nightly thoughts with his sand. Despite how silent this singular Guardian was, he was the oldest of them all, the most constant, the wisest. They couldn't lose the Sandman.

Without a second thought to consider the utter stupidity, Jack flew forward, in front of the sleigh, thrusting himself into the wind that whipped into the same direction at his command. We can't lose Sandy. I can't lose Sandy, Jack's thoughts blared, the only other thing he was aware of, besides the challenge before him. He had to help Sandy, get him out, keep him safe.

"Jack!" Bunnymund's voice echoed in a shout, calling the young phantasm back. But he couldn't—wouldn't back down. Sandy needed him. He couldn't just back down, into the sleigh, where the pace they were arriving at would be far too late. Even as he propelled himself, Jack could see the horror and fear beginning to creep over Sandy's usually smiling face. Perhaps even he would be too late for the Sandman.

"Give into the fear, little man," Pitch hissed, his voice rebounding into the black sand and twisting into such a large amplification. A wicked grin was spread upon the coal-splattered complexion of the terror, his eyes glowing as they focused, so transfixed on the Sandman.

In the flash of a moment, Pitch let loose a treacherous knife of nightmares, launching it at the dream king. For that split second, everything seemed to freeze. Jack continued to zoom forward, unaware that he was too late, unable to help his friend. Tooth screeched out a warning, but such words were little use to the little man of dreamsand. As the blade bit into his back, Sandy lurched upright, tensing in the pain that sprung so vibrantly through him. For another second, nothing happened; Sandy simply froze with the knife stuck in his back. Then the nightmare sand began to creep up his legs, unraveling his light. The glistening blackness swept across his body, encasing him in a shell of black. His pupils dilated, before his eyes fell shut, and the Sandman was steady pulled to Pitch's side by the tether of nightmare sand.

"Sandy!" Jack cried out, soaring even more desperately towards Pitch.

With a grin from the Nightmare King, a black wall fell from his fingers. The glimmering web of sand pounded down on the tiny figure of Jack, who suddenly seemed so helpless.

"No," Tooth whispered, as the three Guardians watched the wall come in horror. They had lost Sandman, lost the emanating light that spread through dreams and created such hope and happiness, and now... now they might lose Jack too.

But, to everyone's greatest surprise, a surging burst of white frost spurted from Jack, into the mass of blackness, fighting it back, destroying it. The sheer power and light of it was blinding, continuing to push against the nightmares, continuing to push against Pitch. The frosty sparkles forced Pitch out of his cloud of fear, and both he and the shell of Sandman fell to the ground, sinking into the tree level and out of view.

Jack watched numbly. Perhaps he should have felt some sort of rush of hope at this victory, maybe some happiness. But he felt nothing, just completely numb. Sandy was gone, the happy little man with his confident smiles and world of dreamsand. Jack hadn't made it in time, hadn't reached out towards the oldest Guardian in time, and now he was gone. Sure, he fought all those nightmares off, but for what? He was dead, gone, lost in the deafening shell of nightmares. The dream had been taken over, and Jack sensed that the nightmare was only beginning.

Jack began to fall, to plummet from his spot, and down into the sleigh that North angled below him. Worse than his own feeling of complete destruction were the sober faces of the friends around him. Bunnymund's hop over was so small, so weak... Jack had never seen him like this, never seen any of them so disheartened. North looked by far the worst, such a look of hopeless sorrow lingering on his features; he simply shook his head back and forth, as if wishing to clear it head from all that rotted there.

"Jack, how did you do that?" Tooth asked, her voice frail, with the air of someone who was about to start crying. The words she spoke weren't unhappy, though, and Jack could tell how desperately she was trying to lighten the situation. They all needed this whole position to be lighter, and that's why they needed Sandy so badly.

"I didn't know I could," Jack shook his head, sitting down on the bench, his breath coming out in shaky, half-formed gasps. "Sandman... What happened to him? What did Pitch do to him?"

"We don't know," North murmured, continuing to shake his own head. "Not exactly."

"We should go and get him back, then," Jack sputtered, the very bristle of hope beginning to paint his voice as he tried to stand up.

Bunnymund's strong paw forced Jack back into his seat. "No, mate, we might not know what Pitch did to 'em, but Sandy's gone, and there's no getting him back."

Jack sank back into place, his shoulders falling in the sheer hopelessness of the whole situation. "No. . ."

Without a word of warning or preparation, North silently pulled out his snow globe and threw it in front of the sleigh. The icy palace of the North Pole loomed ahead of them in the swirling circle, before the reindeer danced back into motion and pulled them all through out of the sky that was so full of fear.


	2. Chapter 2

The globe glitched and flickered, the swathes of gold painted across its surface sputtering in a desperate struggle to stay illuminated. Some individual glints held on for several seconds, pulsing and struggling like the wings of dying butterflies, while others flared only briefly before collapsing into darkness. The sight of such rapid diminishment caused a physical sickness in Jack's stomach—he didn't need to be a Guardian to feel the sense of raw, utter defeat that came with the failing lights. The very concept of losing a believer—of having a formerly faithful devotee, a child to which you were the whole world—cease thinking that you existed was enough to form a physical weight in Jack's chest, pumping heavily as iron through his veins.

"What does it mean?" he asked softly, stepping forwards and taking in the sight of the infinitesimally rotating sphere, painted as it was with the last echoes of dying hope. Tooth, beside him, let out a muted gasp as a particularly massive cluster of lights winked into nonexistence. He felt her shiver, long feathers stirring the air between them.

"It can't be Pitch," Bunny growled, his ears practically flat with distress. "Not so much, so suddenly... it's impossible."

"Not Pitch alone," North agreed, but there was an aspect to his tone that was dark, chilling, and Jack realized that he was doing more than merely support the Pooka's words. "But with help..."

"Help?" Jack repeated, his voice barely above a breath. He felt tension seep through the air as Tooth stiffened beside him, and Bunny's emerald-green eyes darkened, his whiskers flickering in an almost invisible twitch as his powerful shoulders shuddered and lowered. Sickness stirred in Jack's stomach. "You don't mean..."

"...Sandy," Tooth finished. Her voice was delicate, as if it lingering on the verge of tears. "There's no other way."

"But... how? You mean he's controlling him?"

"Or somethin' like it," Bunny confirmed grimly, arms folded over his shaggy chest. "Those nightmares could have done anything to him. It's been ages since Pitch had real power... he's probably come up with all sorts of new tricks." The last word was spit out spitefully, dripping with resentment.

Jack swallowed, but didn't dawdle. The path ahead was clear. Saving Sandy might have seemed a huge task on its own, but now they had no option. If the children of the world were in danger from Pitch's new weapon, then the Guardians had no choice. They had to save the kids. It was their job. And if the only way to do that was to rescue Sandy, to do whatever was needed to turn him golden and cheery again... then they had no choice on that matter, either.

The thought, despite the horror of the darkening lights, was a reassurance, and Jack allowed himself to drift just a few centimeters into the air, his toes brushing the ground as he adjusted his grip on his staff, hefting it hight. "What are we waiting for, then?" he asked eagerly, spinning to face the other three. Their eyes—violet, fern, and crystal—gazed back, wide and rapt. "He needs us!"

His words, simple as they were, seemed to stir something under the fur, feathers, and coat of the three Guardians. A tiny smirk tugged at the edge of Bunny's mouth, Tooth straightened her chin, and North nodded powerfully, one hand darting under his heavy red overcoat to withdraw one of is thin sabers. It snapped and glistened in the fading golden light, dark with power and potential.

"Jack is right!" North declared, turning to the other two. "We will save Sandy. There is no time to waste!"

"It looks like they're around here," Tooth observed, her gossamer wings lifting her up the wide curve of the globe. Her thin fingers extended, pressing against the rough-hewn shape of North America's west coast. The groups of lights located there, where green-painted land met blue-stained sea, were those currently suffering the most, flashing and fluttering with light and darkness in a massive storm of energy.

"Good, then that is where we will go," North decided. "To the sleigh!"

"Sleigh?" Bunnymund repeated, his eyes narrowing. "We don't have the time for that, mate. Sandy is out there doing who knows what to kids, and he's not going to wait for your reindeer."

Before any of them could respond, his heavy foot thudded powerfully against the cold floor of the workshop, and a second later the ground fell away entirely, collapsing into a dark tunnel that almost immediately wove away to nothingness. Jack barely had the time to be startled before the gap was under his feet, as well, and then he was flipping practically head-over-heels as the musty underground air rushed past him. A yelp was caught in his throat, and the last thing he saw was Tooth's slim, colorful form darting in as well before the earth closed over the top entirely.

For a few seconds, Jack was entirely blinded, what with the clumps of dirt and roots around the edges of the tunnel falling into his eyes and mouth. His limbs were battered by the rough sides of the passageway, and it was all he could do to keep his fingers cinched tight around his staff, holding on for his life before they were finally spit out of the narrow hole, tumbling heavily onto the ground.

Jack winced, his head spinning, but wasted no time in springing to his feet. Despite its painful qualities, Bunny's mode of transportation was certainly exhilarating—in any case, it had upped his heart rate, and he was now filled with adrenaline that caused him to dart about with rapid impatience as the still surprised-looking North and Tooth gathered themselves.

It was dark once more, the sun having risen and fallen since their last encounter with Pitch, the time spent recovering from the taxing battle and preparing for the inevitable danger ahead of them. The lights of a city glittered just a little ways off, over what Jack realized quickly to be a night-blackened lake, the shore of which they had surfaced on. Inky waves lapped softly at the soil, scattered with a few sparse tufts of grass. It was peaceful, somehow, a welcome release from the busyness of North's brightened workshop, which continued to churn away long after sunset.

Still, Pitch was over there, somewhere—amidst the towering buildings that cut such a clean silhouette against the star-glossed skies. He was there, and so was Sandy, and with every passing second there were fewer believers.

"They're over there," Jack murmured, jabbing his staff in the direction of the cityscape as Bunny hopped into place beside him. He didn't quite meet the Guardian's eyes, merely for fear of what he may discover there. He knew little about the connection between Bunnymund and Sandman, but he was aware that they were the two most ancient and powerful of them all, so surely there must be something forged between them, something strong and deadly if need be. Bunnymund was a warrior, and Sandy a protector, and ingrained in those roles was something that Jack, being the innocent enough trickster that he was, hesitated even to look in on.

"You ready, then, mate?" Bunny checked softly. Jack swallowed, surprised by the gentleness in the other's tone, which had previously only struck him as stingy and abrasive.

"Of course."

"Really?"

And that made him stop short for a moment, hesitating and taking in a deep breath of the air. It was fresh with the presence of the nearby water, a sharp chill that only invigorated him farther. He didn't want to fight Sandy—he didn't even want to fight Pitch. But he did want to defend the children. Even if they weren't his responsibility, even if he had no right to call himself a Guardian... he absolutely did want to protect them.

"Definitely."

He could hear the smile in Bunny's tone. "Good."

Before either of them could utter another word, however, something stirred in the distance, just near the opposite shore. The darkness seemed to pulsate, intensifying, and Jack's eyes widened as he realized what he must be seeing.

"They know we're here," he gasped, bending his knees and flipping his staff into a defensive stance. "Somehow—somehow they know!"

A second later, Bunnymund had his boomerangs out and ready, their dark wood glistening in the moonlight, and Tooth had pulled North to his feet just in time for the two of them to join, Tooth to Jack's side and North to Bunny's, the former's wings whizzing sharply while the latter wielded his twin swords high above his head. They had been caught off guard, but that wasn't important. What mattered was that they were still ready and willing to fight, prepared for the wrath of the roiling waves of smoky blackness that rushed across the glassy surface of the lake, stirring it into frothing chaos. It was a solid wall, massive and imposing, and even Jack couldn't deny the tremble of fear that jerked through his core at the sight of it.

Within a heartbeat, the nightmares were upon them.

A howling rush filled the air around them, shrieking like the most elemental of tempests, and it was all Jack could do to stay on his feet, let alone actually try to battle the horrendous gale of black and purple that spun about him so furiously. A few halfhearted sparks of ice flew from the end of the wood, but only cracked and shattered against the nightmares wrapping around him, which seemed to be as hard as the obsidian that they resembled. There was absolutely no doubt that Sandy's capture had heightened Pitch's powers considerably—now the most powerful Guardian alive was on his side, and that had tipped the scales.

Through the whirling trails of blackness, he just barely managed to catch sight of one of the others—Tooth, her feathers flashing with desperate vibrancy, her wings slicing apart nightmares as they coalesced around her, spinning themselves into a cyclone. It was clear that she was seconds away from being overwhelmed, and anxiety reared in Jack's chest—he pressed forwards, struggling desperately to reach her, though he had no idea what he could do to help defend against the wicked chaos.

The nightmares were like iron ropes restraining him, pressing in on his chest until he could barely breathe. He fought uselessly, his staff slashing through empty air, a cry that would never reach his lips buried somewhere in the recesses of his half-crushed lungs.

The nightmares' work was swift. Within moments, their abstract forms, not even fully woven into the equine shapes that they usually possessed, and bound her thrashing hands and feet, covered her wings with their repulsively rich fog. And more—they were forcing her very jaw open, clinging like pincers to her trembling chin in an act so crude it was almost grotesque, so that her teeth—her treasured, diamond-bright teeth—shone brightly as a snake of black sand passed between her lips, burrowing deep down into Tooth herself.

She shrieked, then, the sound audible even over the muffled roar of the nightmare wave. And Jack, entirely overwhelmed by the nightmares assaulting him as well as the agony now rampant in his chest, fell back as her writhing form was swallowed completely by the merciless darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/C** My apologies for the chapter mix up, here's the actual chapter three.

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"No." The word sat hollowly in Jack's throat, barely touching the air as his back collided harshly and painfully with the ground. He hardly felt the impact, and the roar of the battle around him seemed dulled, compressed into a rush of sound that throbbed against his eardrums. Tooth's last few seconds unfurled repeatedly before his mind's eye; the terror on her delicately beautiful face, the desperate spasming of her iridescent wings, the massively overpowering rush of the nightmares around her, inside of her... no. No. No. They couldn't lose Tooth—he couldn't lose Tooth. Sandy had been horrible enough, but it was a whole new level of dismay that wracked him now, because she was the light and life of them all, the rallying point around which the other, wearier Guardians constantly gathered. And if that blazing center was extinguished—then they'd have nothing at all.

Not extinguished, even. Worse. Much worse. Poisoned, twisted, distorted into something dark and terrifying, something wickedly vicious, something fundamentally evil. For that's what was sure to happen—he had seen the nightmares' motion, and he couldn't mistake it. Sandy's defeat had been given through a dagger of darkness, but Tooth was soured from the inside out, burned apart into the ghastly specter that she surely must have resembled now.

And it was fear—of course, desperate, primitive fear that raged inside him now, pinned him to the ground far more effectively than the sea of rabid nightmares that still swarmed above him; the absolutely fundamental urge to get away. Before he could so much as think about what he was doing, he was crawling, his palms scraping the grass-tufted ground and dry sobs clutching his throat as he pulled himself slowly out from under the black froth, surfacing in time to pull in a breath of weak, crisp air. It chilled his lungs, but that didn't matter, because he was free of the horrible, overwhelming projections of blind terror, and then he was forcing himself to his feet, moving forwards without seeing until he found purchase against a tree, its rough bark greeting his palms with reassuring solidity. He slumped into the trunk, eyes squeezed shut to hold back the tears that suddenly hissed and burned behind them, determined not to look back, not to see what had become of North and Bunnymund. He felt his stomach sway and sicken—he had abandoned them like the weakling that he was, tore himself out of the battle simply because he wasfrightened, and surely that rendered him a more despicable being than Sandy or Tooth could ever be, even darkened as they were by Pitch's horrific creations.

"Of course... fleeing the battle, are you? I'm sure they expected as much... I certainly did."

Pitch's voice, somehow, pierced right to his core—before he could think, he was whipping around, his staff extended, tears spilling over his eyes as he shrieked a response.

"Face us yourself, then, you coward!" he shouted into the darkness, scanning it desperately in search of Pitch's solid form. The Nightmare King, however, appeared to exist only in the shadows, for it was from their depths that his laugh emerged, silken and deadly. The knot of sand containing Tooth, North, and Bunnymund was just across the shore, still close enough for Jack to feel the whip of the breeze from their movements, but he still couldn't bring himself to look closely enough to see if either of the other two had been overtaken. "Face us instead of sending your stupid nightmares, fight us like something truly worth fearing!"

"Oh, but I am worth fearing." Every time that Jack thought he saw a stirring figure out of the corner of his eyes, he would turn swiftly, only to be confronted with nothingness. Pitch was leading him about like a fish with a lure, and he hated the feeling of helplessness, absolutely detested it. "And you do fear me, whether you accept it or not... just as surely as you fear their defeat, and fear the fact that none of them believe in you. For they don't, and that haunts you, even now, even when you are far from important in contrast to the people whom you're foolish enough to call your friends..."

The deep-rooted terror that Pitch mentioned then caused a sharp jerk in Jack's chest, almost physically unsettling him, and his hands tightened around the staff. "Shut up!"

"But even if I shut up, it won't make that fear go away. That's what's so beautiful about nightmares... they can never be erased, only suppressed. Buried. They will always be uprooted, in the end... and your fear, Jack, is special... yours will always return to you, because it is your reality. Other than the poor Guardians, so soon to be my own, there is not another soul on in the universe who can see you... you are truly, entirely, absolutely alone in the world."

Once more, thoughts were completely vanquished from his mind. There was nothing inside of him except for aching panic as he thrust his staff into the air and let it lift him, hating the way that even the rush of wind around him couldn't quite drown out Pitch's tenebrous chuckle. He was reeling, shooting through the air simply because he had to escape from it all, escape from himself—hurtling across the lake at a speed that initiated aching pains through every atom of his being, but he didn't care—treasured the pain, even, for wiping everything else away.

Yet it couldn't last forever. The lake was wide but not massive, and mere seconds later he had reached its end, and yet was still flying like a shooting star, barrelling away from North and Tooth and Bunny and Pitch and all the nightmares, and he wondered what the impending collision would even do, whether it would hurt him, whether he would mind if it did—

Hurt it did not, or at least the sensation of utter shock that flowed through his body could hardly be called pain. It was a flash of pure sensation followed almost immediately by still numbness, and it took him several seconds to realize that he wasn't moving, but was instead lying on a floor, gazing at a ceiling—a ceiling?—yes, he was inside, and that meant that the prickling shards burning at his shoulders and back were broken glass, he had crashed through a window...

"H-hello?"

The voice was soft but not quite frightened, more inquisitive than anything else. Jack groaned and gritted his teeth, forcing himself into a sitting position and raising a hand to rub at the back of his whiplash-sored neck. His fingers wandered across the glass-strewn floor until they managed to wrap around his staff, and he took a deep breath, glancing up to regard the person who had spoken.

It was a child—a small, chocolate-haired boy, and it took Jack only a second to recall where he had seen the wide-eyed face before: it was Jamie. The one whom he had set on a sled and guided through the icy streets while his friends gazed on in stunned amazement, the one whom, only hours ago, he and the other Guardians had stopped by the bed of, accidentally woken him up in their attempt to gather his tooth...

And the thought of Tooth and Sandy, of the two who had been lost since then—and perhaps more, for he didn't know, he was a deserter and a coward and had no idea if his other friends were still in their right minds—was horrible, seemed to grip his very heart and twist it with obscene violence, so that his lungs paused and his eyes ached again. It was detestable, to be consumed by such mournful emotion next to a child, in a room that radiated nothing but innocence. And yet this was exactly what Pitch was planning: for these last reserves of juvenile hope and wonder and dreams to be infected, turned irrevocably toxic and malignant.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, voice cracked, to the blank-staring child to whom he was invisible. "I'm sorry..."

"...Are you... Jack Frost?"

He froze.

Because that couldn't be right, because he was invisible, because this was Jamie and he knew Jamie didn't believe in him, had it proved countless times over—unless this was what he needed, somehow; some sort of physical confirmation—apparently, in the form of a shattered window... a rough grip of disbelieving emotions was rising in Jack's chest, senseless joy combined with genuine disbelief, and he couldn't resist reaching out, his eyes wide, his lips parted.

"Did you just—I... are you... can you...?"

His lungs were paralyzed. He couldn't ask it—was too afraid of the answer, or rather the lack of answer; of how easily it could crush the weak root of hope that had somehow, suddenly found a home within him. Yet he couldn't possibly suspend the eager curiosity enveloping him in thoughtless fire, and so the words tumbled forth from his icy lips to hang in the air, doused with coolness from outside and suddenly very, very still.

"Can you see me?"

And Jamie was nodding—nodding, and his pure young face broke into a gap-toothed grin as Jack rose all at once, uncontrollable laughter bubbling up inside of him, hindered by the pain of his still-recent devastation but massive enough to work past it nonetheless. His mind was a buzzing blank, but a beautiful one, and he could do nothing but laugh in unadulterated happiness as snow exploded around him, drenching them both with soft coldness that couldn't be farther from unpleasant.

"Are you making it snow?" Jamie demanded in fascinated wonder, and Jack nodded in return, his heart racing up to his throat.

"I can do more, too," he got out, and didn't care that the words were simple, almost foolish, because they held all the meaning he needed. "I can... ice, I can make ice and snowballs, like that sled, remember the sled yesterday?"

"What—that was you?"

"Come on, do you really think you'd be able to get through something like that on your own? Of course it was me!"

"That's awesome!" Jamie exclaimed, and utter jubilance crashed down on Jack like a golden wave, overwhelming everything, warming his center until he couldn't smile widely enough to even begin to capture the flawless revelry burning inside of him. "But then... if you can do all that stuff, why did you have to break through the window?"

Break through the window... of course. And instead of allowing his buoyancy to be capsized by the sudden onrush of memories, Jack was only motivated further. Of course, the Guardians—they needed him, and he could help them, he had a believer, he had strength...

"Listen." He leaned forwards, settled his hands on Jamie's shoulders and felt a streak of glee pound through him at the physical contact—he had no time to savor it now, though. "I have to help my friends—the Easter Bunny and all the rest, they're in danger, but I think I know what to do. Promise me you'll say here—and get your friends to keep believing, okay? It's important... I need you all to do that for me. Just that. Just believe. Okay?"

Jamie's brows lowered in clear confusion at the winter spirit's sudden solemnity. "Okay, but—"

It was all Jack needed to hear. He leaped into the air again, called an airy "Sorry about the window!" over his shoulder, and then he was outside again, slipping over houses and streets, gliding across rooftops and between trees until he reached the lake, where he stopped all at once, staring in silent dismay.

He could still see them, just barely—North and Bunnymund, ever-weakening miniature figures on the other side of the dark, glassy ice. They stood back to back, swords and boomerang bared, battling futilely. Jack raised his own staff, but it was a hopeless gesture, because he knew there was no time—even now, new waves of nightmares were coasting forth out of thin air, bombarding the two Guardians in a fight that they surely had no chance of winning. Still, he would try to help them—he had to; he was one of them.

Perhaps if he saw the Sandman awaiting him just a second earlier, he would have been more careful.

Yet, altered and distorted as he was now from the merry-faced golden being whom Jack knew so well, he might as well have been invisible. He was barely distinguishable amongst the swathes of nightmares that thickened the air, little more than one of them—his form was an equally dense black, though not sparkled through with the blue and violet of the sand. He was pure, absolute obscurity.

And Jack barely had the time to acknowledge as much before a sharpened rope of ebony glitter formed at the darkened Sandy's fingertips, whipped through the air and collided with his skull, rendering the rest of the world as inky as the fallen Guardian himself.


	4. Chapter 4

The nightmares blurred around Bunnymund in a glimmering veil, scratching out at us in the sky, frothing about in a great storm. At this point, each individual nightmare wasn't even identifiable, just swarming around in the angry cloud. He couldn't see anything else, besides North in the corner of his vision, paces away on the same sleigh as the Pooka, with his own set of snags racing about him. Even the king of these beasts was lost in the sheer mass of them all. With claws and boomerangs outstretched, Bunny fought them, tearing them about in the shimmering dust that didn't deserve to con as Sandy's beloved sand. His two weapons sprang into life by his paws, twirling through the air in their own personal tempest of movement, snapping away at the creatures and forcing them at bay. Well, not only that, but completely obliterating those that he touched. There were just so many, dancing about in their sick twisted movements as they bolted through the sky with such ease.

Where's Jack? Bunny's head pounded, though he didn't dare spare his vision to look for the little Guardian or even his voice, from the fear that Pitch would hear him and prone in on the weakness. Fear, that's what they were battling away at, crushing to shards with their weapons. In the end, that's always what had to be defeated. But Bunny spent no time contemplating such philosophy, instead kept his arms moving in a whirl of movement that not even his own eyes would care to keep track of. What was much slower was the progress that these maneuvers caused, biting away at the infinite force that was bearing down on the Guardians. However, though the changes in the air might have been sluggish, they were still present, and the throng was thinning to the point where Bunnymund could actually see past them into the rest of the night sky.

"North!" he called hastily, searching out Pitch in the mess. He still was nowhere to be seen. "We're gonna make it! Where's Jack?"

North took a moment to reply, his blades busy slicing away at the mass of darkness that surrounded them so thoroughly. When he did respond it was with a powerful and booming cry that echoed through the night sky, voicing his concern. "Yes indeed. I do not know where he has gone, Bunny—" He paused to slash away at another nightmare. "—Pitch also gone."

"Ruddy coward," Bunny spat in response, catching two of the last nightmares with his boomerang, before it came flying back into his grasp. He gazed around into the rest of the night sky. Clouds were still hovering in blockage of the moon but no more dreaded nightmares or Pitch was in sight. Neither was Jack or Tooth.

"We should go back," North suggested from his sleigh, gesturing to Bunny to join him. The large man took another moment to gaze around uneasily, desperate to spot the little Guardian. "Jack and Tooth know to meet us back at North Pole."

"North. . ." Bunny shook his head, his voice slipping from his mouth horsley. "Mate, You saw as well as I did what happened to Tooth. They forced a nightmare down her gullet. She's gone. Tooth is gone just the same as Sandy. If we're very lucky, which we don't seem to be very good at being, Jack is fine."

"Come Bunny, we will get them back," North promised, his eyebrows furrowed with such earnest sadness. "Your center is hope, it always has been. Hold onto that."

"That is what we so desperately need right now, mate," Bunny agreed, nodding firmly. He settled himself back into a seat of the sleigh. Without another word from either of them, North cracked his team into action, and they sprang into a portal that lead them back to his snowy kingdom.

The two guardians were unfortunately unsurprised by the lack of their comrades waiting for them at North's home. Without really trying to, they found themselves staring silently at the globe, watching the flickering lights fade so quickly on the enormous fear. Both stood with tension in their shoulders and their mouths open as they breathed in the horror of their situation. So many had stopped believing, more still disappearing with their glistening happiness with it.

What had happened to Jack? Bunny couldn't help but contemplate this, for neither North nor Bunny had seen the mischief maker diminish as surely as Tooth or Sandy. With this in mind, Bunny couldn't help but hope so desperately that Jack would arrive any moment now, completely fine and ready to help in any way possible. Hope, that was their prime resource now, the thing that was still willing to burst from both North and Bunnymund. Suddenly it dawned on Bunny, the way to save the children's belief and to allow this hope to flourish inside of them.

"Don't lose hope, Mate," Bunny reminded North, smiling tiredly at his friend. "Tomorrow's Easter. We can bring spring and hope with it. Jack'll be back with us before we can worry too much."

North smiled at this thought, clasping his large hand onto the Pooka's back. "Bunny, you are right! And as much as it pains me to say it, my friend, this year Easter is more important than Christmas."

His mouth dropped open in the utter shock that accompanied his words. "Really? You actually said that! Oh, well of course it would be while no one else was around to hear it!"

North laughed heartily at this response, despite the melancholy world that they lived in at that moment. He turned back in the direction of where they had parked the sleigh, knowing that they had little time to waste.

"To the warren, then," Bunny nodded appreciatively, hopping after North.

"Yes," North agreed. "We prepare the sleigh."

"Wait, wait," Bunny hopped to in front of him, waving his paws around in protest. "No sleigh. My warren, my rules. Buckle up." With those words, Bunny thumped the ground, plunging them into his tunnels.

The Guardians flew and hopped their way through the labyrinth of earth, Bunny leading North through until the two of them were back up on solid ground, tumbling to the ground. Where they had come out from was a very deviating place when compared to the shadowed storm that brewed outside in the natural light. Here there was some light that accompanied the shadows, glistening across the lush grass that blanketed the rolling hills that lurked here. The dotted splendor of flowers poked their heads from the green, smiling shyly into the world. They were pinpricks of color, each and every one of them, from the cherry pinks, to the glistening blue, to the soft lavender. Pollen and dust sparkled in the air, shining and iridescent as they flew so breathlessly through the air. Toadstools also paved the ground in splashes of dark mauve, the structures protecting the circular rim of a shadow that was cast beneath it. Large stone eggs lingered in the sunlight, etched patterns and faces portraying how they felt about the world. These rounded stones stirred about on small legs that were so minute, it was hard to believe that they managed to hold the eggs up at all.

"Welcome to the warren," Bunnymund stated proudly, gesturing to the sanctuary he knew as home. North may have had an icy palace, but this was where Bunny thrived.

North bobbed his head appreciatively, staring around with his huge, wondrous eyes. He was very impressed by this landscape. His eyes grew even larger at the sight of the tiny eggs pattering about this world of green. They were all the pale off-white that eggs generally took, duller than snow, but lighter than the coarse hair of a sheep.

North shook his head, speechless by the sight, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's a lot of eggs! How much time do we have?"

Bunny grimaced at him, chuckling slightly. "A few hours, I imagine. Come on, mate, let's get to work. No time to waste."

They proceeded to get directly to their large and rather menacing task before them. The two of them helped eggs from the tulips that hatched them, guiding them all down a singular path. On this road, Bunny jiggled some more flowers to life, which began to thoroughly spray puffs of color onto the eggs. These colorful googies ran upon the same tiny legs of the stone eggs, which rapidly propelled them into a swift river of dye, tipping either the top or the bottom with another color. They then slipped through vines that etched fancy patterns onto the delicate surfaces. Each and every egg went down this road, casting upon their shell such an array of gleaming colors, fashioning them into eggs worthy of giving birth to kings and queens. North and Bunny fixed up so many eggs that the rolling valley was empty as Bunny directed them all into the tunnels that would lead them up into the different continents.

"We did it, mate," Bunnymund breathed, letting loose a sigh of relief. "Nine continents' worth of eggs scurrying to egg hunts for tomorrow, folding themselves into tight corners for the fun of the day."

"We did it," North repeated, also overtaken by relief.

"Now all we have left is keeping Pitch and his nightmares from ruining them all," Bunny growled, knowing the task in front of them would be a hard one.

North grunted in response, a worried, fierce grunt. They both sat there for a moment, lost in their own deep thoughts.

"Jack still hasn't returned," Bunny noted tiredly, rising to his feet. "It'll be quite a feat to defend them just the two of us."

"A mission we accomplish," North assured him, nodding with his eyes still blazing with hope. "Jack will come. But we still have job to do."

"Right, yeah of course," Bunny acknowledged. "We should go through the tunnels, mate, make sure there aren't any nightmares lurking about."

"Agreed."

They started down the closest tunnel warily, casting their eyes about for any sign from Pitch or his minions. As they continued onwards without much action, the two of them almost started to relax, almost. But both knew that they weren't going to get a successful Easter without some sort of resistance. As they were nearing the end of the tunnel they had chosen, Bunny felt the oncoming storm before it actually arrived. It was a soft vibration at first, only causing the Pooka to pause because he was paying such attentive attention.

"Here they come, mate," Bunny hissed in warning, the entire tunnel managing to tremble. Mere moments after the warning had left his lips, the glittering blackness spurred through the tunnel towards them. North and Bunny already had their weapons at the ready and threw them forward into the beasts, slashing and tearing into the nightmares, causing them to dissipate into dust. Even with their readiness, the sheer force of it all even managed to know the two Guardians back a little. And yet they continued to fight, continued to fling their boomerangs and sabers forward in a whirl of flashing wood and silver. Backwards and backwards, the two Guardians were forced, surrendering more ground and more eggs to the guardians. There were just so many of them, and against only two.

Bunny hardly detected how far they had been forced until he stepped back into his beloved home. The green fields, with all their flowers and eggs, were swarming with nightmares. They created a sea, tossing and churning as they tossed their manes about.

"Bunny!" North yelled desperately, flinging his sword into two closer ones. "Too closed in here! Have to abandon post!"

As much as Bunnymund despised the mere thought, he knew it had to be the truth. It was that thought that he had as he thumped the ceiling of the tunnel, making room for the two of them to go shooting up onto higher ground. This brought them a second of time, during which they caught their breath, preparing themselves for the oncoming storm.

Indeed it was a hurricane that burst from the tunnel they had risen from. The black mares shot upwards with such force, that many bounded into the sky for a moment, before charging down. They splatting onto the two guardians with sheer power, and despite the few North and Bunny were able to knock off as the nightmares came down, the sheer number of them knocked the guardians to the ground. And yet they continued to fight; they had to.

This time when Bunny fought against the very air that shifted around him, he couldn't even make out North's figure beside him. There was no one but him and the blackness. And what a mass this shadow was, tearing away at him and pinning him to the ground. Bunny's boomerang sprang from hand to nightmares at such a rapid matter of seconds that the weapon was untraceable in its constant flow of movement. And yet still Bunny was being overtaken. So many more seemed to be focused on him then North, homing in on the fluffy figure that was always so fierce. But now Bunny could feel his strength waning, and he realized with a sickening plunge in his stomach that this was because all over the world, kids were realizing that no Easter eggs had been hidden in their backyard or under the porch, the Easter Bunny hadn't come this one year, therefore he must not even exist. Children all over had stopped believing in the Easter Bunny. With this new weakness, the nightmares plunged towards him with even more strength. They pounded into his sides, blocking him out from the rest of the world, until the sheer mass of the darkness swallowed Bunnymund whole.


	5. Chapter 5

A pulsating ache had found root at the base of Jack's skull, radiating with slow, shaky throbs. He tried and failed to give it little regard—as inconsequential as the injury may be, it was impossible to ignore the fact that it was there, and for him, a spirit who hadn't felt physical pain for as long as he could remember, it was endlessly unnerving. The cursed dreamsand—specifically that generated by his formerly jolly friend—had a profound effect on his being, damning him into blunt agony in a way that nothing else had managed to in the hundreds of years that he'd found himself on Earth. And yet even the sharp, knifelike strokes of soreness couldn't come near rivaling the extent of unadulterated dread that rang through his chest with every breath, radiating out in clear, stark waves from what he assumed to be his heart.

The battlefield where Tooth had fallen was abandoned. That was what he observed now, standing numbly with his fingers around his fight-worn staff and his feet barely touching the death-scorched grass. It looked like the hushed reproduction of a meteor crater, swirling streaks of darkness flashing out from the center of the previously clear lakeshore like the shadowed rays of a cruel sun, demented scars echoing the horror that had occurred there. He had rushed in immediately upon waking, darting through the air with nary a thought in his mind save the desperation to reach his friends and the insistent dig of the pain in his head. Both had been balanced equally then, but now the material discomfort was drowned entirely, and his only fixation was to find North and Bunnymund, to help them—for surely the fight wasn't over yet.

For the first real time, Jack paused to breathe, his eyes lifting to the sky. Though he hadn't expected the moon to be visible, washed out as his surroundings now were in distant sunlight, it still caused a sharp sink in his stomach to see the grey skies entirely clear of the familiarly comforting pearly disc. A pang ran through his very center, reminding him with detestable clarity of what had occurred just over the past few days. Sandy's defeat, the diminishing lights on the globe, Tooth's grotesque transformation… less than a week ago, he hadn't been weighted by a care in the world, and now he found unspeakable responsibility tight on his shoulders—he had paid for his first believer with the worse-than-death of two of his only friends, and he couldn't help but imagine, however unrealistically, that it really was his fault. For they had been better before he came along, as well—not as lighthearted as him, perhaps, yet still happy, charged by the energy of their holidays and their blazing cores. They had been drawn together in order for him to become a Guardian, and from there thrown into horrible disarray, ripped apart and cast towards the tattered wreck in which their ranks now lay.

Yet there was no use dwelling on such distant concepts. Regardless of what had landed them in such a miserable position, what they had to do now was escape it, and with Tooth and Sandy gone—perhaps more—there was only one way to achieve that. One person… one Guardian who could supply the belief which they so sorely needed, prompt them into the strength necessitated for victory.

A sudden rustle from behind him caused Jack to duck down instinctively, jabbing his staff out in a defensive motion and tugging his hood over his pale hair with his free hand. A quick examination of the bushes lining the edge of the rocky beach, however, revealed nothing beyond a young girl, dark-skinned and pigtailed, her coconut-brown eyes heavy with dismalness as her fingers closed around a round, nearly ovular stone, tinged slightly green by the salts and time of the lake whose edge it rested upon.

"Just a rock," she announced, presumably to companions hidden behind the scraggly shrubs. "There's nothing… nothing." Her hollow words were followed by the rest of her thin body hurrying out onto the shore, as if hoping to contradict her own words with some new sight. Jack pulled back slightly, his stomach assaulted by a familiar twinge at the realization of his own invisibility, and it was only then that he notices the contents of the child's other hand—she was holding a basket, wide and roomy but containing nothing save faintly misty, early-morning air which eddied and whirled about its wicker interior.

He realized, all at once, that it was an Easter basket.

And then he wasn't thinking about the poor girl with disappointment pumping through her veins, or of her friends as they scampered into view—he was blind to them, with only a single thought blazing through his mind, suffocating all else—even completely extinguishing the throb that had been pounding ceaselessly against the back of his head.

There were no eggs. It was Easter morning, somehow—Sandy's attack must have thrown him out for longer than he'd initially thought, or otherwise he'd already lost track of the days—and there were no eggs. Which, of course, could only mean one thing.

Bunnymund was in danger.

Maybe beyond danger—hurt, killed, transformed; all thoughts were equally paralyzing as they shot through Jack's mind, merciless reality far too quick to support them. He couldn't imagine losing Bunny—he was the strongest warrior they had, surely, and the mere thought of his being absent from their ranks was enough to cast Jack onto his knees, hands moving rapidly along the pebbly ground, seeking softness in the dirt as though he could simply punch through and unearth one of the many pathways to the rabbit's secluded warren.

And yet he couldn't—only Bunny was able to craft the instantly-vanishing tunnels, and that knowledge spurred absolute furious frustration in Jack's chest, eliciting a hiss of bare harassment. His pale fingers curled into fists, pummeling the earth in an effort that he knew to be hopeless. He wanted to—had to find Bunny, and yet the only place to start looking was the warren, and he had no way to reach it, none at all.

But—but, perhaps North remained intact. Maybe the bright-eyed, heavyset, light-haired Guardian of wonder had something left, a way to help Bunny or information about him at the very least, and Jack knew where he was—the North Pole was far away, too far, and yet he had never before felt such an absolute resolution in every fiber of his body; the wind would have to move fast, very fast, and yet he didn't know or care if it would hurt him.

He had to get to the Pole. Nothing else mattered.

The wind seemed to leap at his silent command, wreathing him in a soft cocoon of comfortable chill even before he had the chance to verbally instruct as much. He gripped his staff closer, squeezed his eyes shut, and clenched his teeth tight.

It waited for no further cue. In a single powerful wrench, he was torn from the ground and catapulted through the sky, blind to his surroundings as jets of icy air ripped past him, singeing his skin with their raw energy. He saw nothing but white and heard nothing but the howl of air, and so it remained—he held his staff close, curled around it, and let the wind carry him.

* * *

It was still far too long to reach the North Pole, and yet it took barely more than a glance towards the hulking form of the usually merry building to reveal that he'd made the right decision.

The frost coasting along the eaves, typically so light and glittery, seemed to cling against its perch with a mushy grey reluctance, to the point where a few icicles were actually dripping into the murky heaps of snow below. The windows were dark, absent of the butterscotch-hued light that Jack was so used to seeing from them, and the whole of the workshop seemed utterly dismal, even abandoned.

Yet it wasn't abandoned. For there they were—the two of them, silhouettes massive and mighty against the backdrop of the ashen sky. They stood where the sleigh normally parked, though its regal form was nowhere in sight now. And they were fighting—fighting, limbs and weapons darting and flashing about; a sight that sickened Jack enough for him to barely feel the seconds pass as the final few meters were closed and he stumbled to the ground before them.

North's swords were bared—not quite slashing at his enemy, but crossed in strategic defense, silver glinting in the cold sunlight. His eyes were narrow, and yet the emotion within them was boundless—sorrow and apology for the old friend who faced him now, a sentiment further echoed in the shaking set of his jaw.

For Bunnymund was not Bunnymund. His fur shone shades darker, sleek to the point of being almost oily, flat against the scrawny angles of his skeleton underneath it. His eyes were violet, pupil-less, ferocious, mindless pools of dark lavender hatred, and his lips were drawn back from his glistening, twisted fangs in an expression that was utterly animal.

"Bunny?" Jack whispered.

The slavering beast whipped around to face him, a snarl erupting from its throat like that of a rabid dog. It crouched, spine trembling, and a bolt of fear shattered through Jack's stomach—not from the dangerous stance of Bunny's specter, but rather from the clarity flashing through North's expression, the red-clothed Guardian's swift movement—his sabers cleaving through the air, moving straight towards Bunnymund's exposed neck.

"No!" Jack shrieked without thinking, and then he was wheeling through the air, thrusting himself between them, staff streaking into the air to block the blades. They struck against each other with a resonant shudder, and Jack's teeth clattered, a horrible chill shuddering against his insides at the detestable collision. North's eyes flew wide in surprise as their weapons crossed, and yet Jack paid him no need—he was turning again, with the immediate danger surpassed, staring in disbelief at the dark Bunnymund, who still crouched on all fours, looking more like a black panther than the tough-muscled but soft-hearted Pooka whom Jack suddenly missed with such drowning desperation.

"Bunny, please," he breathed, holding the eerie mauve stare, silently imploring—begging—that something reveal itself, some sort of kindness, some shred of good amidst the sea of disgusting cruelty that had apparently overcome one of his only two remaining friends.

The gleaming eyes sprang wide for a half-moment, then tightened all at once, the motion accompanied by a heavy twitch of his shaggy ears. Jack flinched, fully expecting the savage beast to launch itself at him, but the remains of Bunnymund whipped around instead, dashing off and down the snowy slopes in a coal-colored blur that dissipated into nothing at all moments later, leaving only a soft shower of snow from the point where it had gone underground.

Jack choked softly, unable to make a sound. His shoulders shaking from the nauseous emptiness that clasped his insides, he forced himself to turn towards North, pathetically seeking solace in the Guardian whom, as he realized now, was all he had left in the whole of the world.

He knew, fully, what he had done. That his intervention had cost North his victory—and yet, perhaps, earned Bunnymund his life, or what little remained of it; he didn't regret his actions, however spontaneous and foolish they may have been. He refused to.

But North blamed him.

North blamed him, as he saw now—every worn line and shadow of the ancient face across from him conveyed disappointment, betrayal, even deeply personal hurt. And though Jack's mouth opened, he had no apologies to put voice to, nothing to say—nothing to say at all.

And so it remained as North turned wordlessly, sabers hanging uselessly at his sides, and trudged up the path to his desolate workshop, slipping inside and closing the door behind him with a tight bang.

It could not have been clearer that Jack was not welcome to join him.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack always had possessed solitude, to the point of suffocation and complete unbearable loneliness, but it was one created by people being present but not knowing that he existed. When he truly needed to be alone, Jack flew to the arctic. This time as he flew in such a sprawling gust of wind that it was more of a punishment than anything else. He wanted to be with the rest of the Guardians, but they had no wish to be with him, nightmare or not. He had failed them, completely and utterly, crushing the lives of those that had almost become his companions, friends. Now black swirled into the eyes and souls of these Guardians, and this blackness had settled over North's heart in the outcome of everything.

Here in the arctic, the frosty world surrounded him, freezing these thoughts and causing everything to slow. The sky was a mass of clouds, strangling him between its gaze and the steely slate of the bitter chunks of ice. Normally, Jack could find comfort in the bliss of such complete frost and silence, but now it just caged him even further, reminding him how utterly he was alone now. And it frightened him, horrified him, far more than any monster under beds—after Jack had finally found people he could converse with, they had been poisoned and stolen away by fear. What does it matter? A voice screeched within his head, a deafening roar against the quiet screams of nothing that existed beyond his own mind. You've been alone! You've always been alone! For millenniums you've lived without a word directed towards you. What should it matter that you had the slightest sight of companionship? What difference does it make? But even the slightest lick of friendship had taught Jack such joy that he could not just forget or move past, but itch for with such compassion. And it even worse than the fact that they were no longer with him was that they were instead completely shattered from their previous selves, splinters cast about before being sewn back together in entirely unrecognizable forms, light and kindness swallowed within the shadow of fear.

Another voice stirred, a soft hiss that twisted within him and poisoned him just as darkly as the nightmare sand. It's your fault, too, you realize. You couldn't reach Sandy in time to save him or even help in any form. All you could do for Tooth was watch her struggle, not even offering a single hand to help since you are such a loner you couldn't be bothered by anyone's problems but your own. Worse yet was with Bunnymund, who you could have actually helped. You had been right there with them, but were too busy with a kid that saving your only friends wasn't important enough. To you, none of them must be important enough for a second thought. You're a loner, Jack, always have been, and now, because of your helplessness, you always will be forced into such a role.

"No, no, no!" Jack screamed out loud, his voice bounding around the glaciers in an echo. He pressed his hands over his ears, desperate to free himself of the words that his own mind was concocting. It didn't even sound like Jack, wasn't the cheerfulness he usually managed to carry through with his last breath. Really, it sounded like Pitch, spinning his venomous web of doubt. This thought in mind, Jack spun around stupidly, fervently searching for Pitch with narrowed eyes. As desperate as this was, Jack wanted to see that the words that haunted his thoughts weren't his own, but instead the very force of fear—he wanted it to be a form in which he could hurtle his ice at, causing Pitch to pay for this entire ordeal. Jack didn't want to be so utterly helpless.

Who he did spy worsened Jack's internal pain to the point of nausea. The black cloud suspended in the air in a glittering mass of darkness, floating down without much hurry onto Jack's scene. The wielder wasn't the hated Nightmare King behind this whole terror, but was instead the little man that had been a frightening force enough, even without fear flowing through his veins. From the layered robes to the flimsy tufts of hair protruding from his head, the Sandman was literally the shadow of his former self. The sight of him took Jack's breath away.

"Come on, Sandy," Jack still managed to call out, watching the form hover towards him forlornly. "I know you're still in there, I know you're still fighting! Sandy, I believe in you! I believe in your strength and your kindness; I believe in your dreams and courage! Please... just keep fighting the fear."

The Sandman didn't respond, not through any sort of images, or even the twitch of expression on his face. It couldn't be clearer that these words were coming too late. He was a strangely solemn force, edging towards him until they were standing side by side on the ground.

"If you've given up, then I have to fight you," Jack murmured, his voice barely a breath in this silence, for volume wasn't necessary to communicate the weight of the words that he spoke. Jack's eyes met Sandy's, staring into the vortexes of gleaming black that looked straight through him.

The Sandman responded by taking out a long, slender whip of nightmare sand that glinted lethally. It greatly resembled the weapon Sandy had used just days before on Pitch. He raised it most deliberately, striking down at Jack, who barely managed to dodge in time to avoid the hit.

Tears stinging the edges of his eyes, Jack responded by launching off several spears of ice, the shards glistening in midflight, reflecting off the light of the snow. They shot through the air, clashing against the nightmare sand that composed this new Sandman and shattering to dust. The shards of cold had been utterly useless. Jack gasped at the sight of how powerful Sandy had grown with the nightmare sand seething through his veins. He had no chance, none at all. Still, the two of them continued to fight, Jack thrusting useless daggers of ice while twisting back and forth in an effort to avoid the bite of Sandy's whip. In the end, all that it took was one well aimed bomb of nightmare dust that happened to land on Jack's head, knocking him into a fervent slumber.

Dreams play with one's most fragile fragments of the mind; nightmares tear away at these feeble areas until all that is left is dust. It wears at the conscience, transforming and altering thoughts to fit the flimsy formats the dreams take. That was why when Jack opened his eyes to the world within his nightmare, he couldn't even tell that he was asleep, but instead thought that the ammunition had simply knocked him to the ground. The cliffs of ice still gleamed around him, but were held fast by shadows that caged his vision, causing the snow to save its usual gleam. He twisted his head around, forcing himself to his feet as he gazed around in desperation, attempting to catch sight of the nightmare Sandman. In a moment, Sandy was upon him, looming above him with all of his finesse and power, so suddenly that it wouldn't have made sense if this had happened by the logic of the real world. Behind him appeared another dark figure, her feathers forming an inky mass of black indigo, her wings fluttering behind her in a smoky blur. It really was true, then; Toothiana was a nightmare. On the other side of Sandy the larger, furry figure of Bunnymund appeared, the same rabid version that Jack had seen fighting North.

"No..." Jack whimpered, spying the last hulking specter's appearance behind the entire group of him. Jack stared into the cold, empty eyes of the one Guardian he hadn't even imagined could be turned, for he was always there, with strength in both his stride and his laughter, and it was unthinkable to even have the realization that he was just as likely to be forced into being a nightmare as any of them. And yet, North still stood before Jack, his coat glimmering with the nightmare sand's texture and his facial features emptied from the jolliness that always was such a big part of him.

"There is no more hope for you, mate," Bunny announced, his voice a dead monotone that chilled Jack to the bone, for there wasn't even any emotion cast into the familiar word 'mate'. "This reality is our platform to dispel everything into fear and create a world of darkness for us to thrive in. You are the last light to snuff out in our way."

"Join us, Jack," Toothiana continued, her voice mirroring the same deadpan of Bunnymund's. "Give into the fear. We shall all be together forever; no more lonely solitude; no more pain. Join us."

Jack took a step back, readying his staff before him in defense, his brow furrowed defiantly. "No! It doesn't matter if I'm the only survivor, if all of you have fallen. I will keep fighting until my last breath!" With that off his chest, he fired a row of frost at them, shooting up into the air and continuing to pellet them as he flew.

The nightmare Guardians were flung back, caught unaware by the sudden attack. However, they weren't otherwise affected, and only took a moment to regroup. They plunged into the sky, swirling together in a massive wall of darkness that followed Jack into the heavens. As they moved this they kept murmuring, in a continuous anthem of words: 'Join us, join us, join us...' Jack barely had a moment before they were upon him, swirling around him in a haze of darkness, blocking his view from any light, lashing out at him. Jack continued to shoot ice at them, knowing how useless this all was but still forcing himself to keep fighting.

Suddenly Bunny's paw lashed out, knocking Jack's staff from his hands, and capturing it in his own grasp. Utterly powerless without the wood, Jack plummeted to the ground. His limbs flashed outwards, trying to stall the inevitable fall to no success. Surprisingly, it wasn't the crashing collision of Jack hitting the snow that burst his body into endless agony, crushing every nerve in his body; it was what was still happening in the sky. Bunnymund cracked the staff in two, shattering Jack more completely than if he had broken every bone in his body. Frozen to the ground in the sheer anguish, he watched the Guardians of nightmares glide down beside him, circling his crushed form. For a moment after they had landed beside them, they just stood there, waiting patiently for the inevitable.

"You had no chance," Bunny repeated himself.

"Fine..." Jack mumbled, his voice leaving his lips in breathless grunts. There was no happy ending in this for him, there was only surrender. "I... I will join you." Jack closed his eyes, shutting his lids to a terrorizing darkness that was even more complete than any of the nightmares. The dream world faded away, and yet it still felt so real that Jack was afraid to open his eyes, unsure which reality to trust.

"Good," the cold voice of the Nightmare King said, brimming with sick pleasure. "I knew you'd eventually see it our way."

Jack opened his eyes to find that the waking world was hardly a change from the dream that had just devoured him whole. The only change was that instead of North, Pitch was standing above him with the other Guardians, his grin bearing down on Jack. With eyes opened into slits, Jack watched Pitch finger two halves of his staff, placing them together in what use to form a whole. Reaching out his slender fingers, Pitch sparked long tentacles that grew along the twisted wood, sliding up its surface and wrapping a cocoon of nightmare sand. As this happened, the changes of Jack were very apparent, a dark hue growing from his feet and entangling him in a skin of nightmare that caged the original Jack behind an impenetrable wall.


	7. Chapter 7

The door shut with a heavy bang, and North did not take the barest second to regret his actions. He knew, coldly and tersely, what was approaching. He was the last left. The final Guardian. That thought was vivid and fierce in his mind, burning with a steady intensity as he lifted his heavy hand from the battered wood of the door, raised his eyes and took in the sight of the hall before him. It would be a futile effort to fortify his workshop, he knew; it was not meant to be a place of refuge, and to defend it as one now would cause more damage than anything else.

There was no winning. He could fight when the nightmares came, and come they would, but until then, all he could do was wait.

The faint sound of scuffling and injured protests rang out from behind the solid barrier of the oaken door, but he paid them no regard. He knew that Jack was too far gone, surely moments away from being turned, himself, and there was no use at all to let him in, allow them to be damned together. It was better this way, he thought. Better to accept the virtual end in a quiet manner, a wise one.

Wisdom was something that North prided himself in. It had taken long, of course; long ages to cultivate the raw energy with which he had lived for so long, gently guide it into a more solid, definite form than the wily roguishness which had always possessed him. He had taken time to coach it towards the steadiness which now filled him, and he intended to carry that triumph to his grave.

For grave it would be, surely. He had seen Sandy and Bunnymund, or at least their burned remnants, and he knew that no trace of his friends remained inside. He had not the vaguest idea of what might happen to their blazing centers when they were whipped and torn into such broken echoes of their former glory, but he was sure that they did not remain. Perhaps they were transformed into something just as dark as the exteriors, or else vanquished like a pinched candle flame. Both, in his mind, were equal to death in their blinding magnitude. His friends had been killed, and he was now headed in the same direction.

He could go down fighting, or he could accept his fate with a bowed head and a steady sorrow.

Perhaps days ago—hours, even, before Bunnymund and Jack—he would have gone for the former. As characterized as he may be into a jolly, even bumbling old man, Nicholas St. North was in all ways a warrior. That identity was heavy in his powerful build and tactical mind, in the sabers still clutched in his hands as he made his way through the dreary workshop. Yet, he thought grimly, sometimes the biggest war was the mental one. Sometimes, the bravest thing to do was to accept an inevitable destiny rather than battle against it.

A few elves still scampered about, clinging to their pointy hats in a futile attempt to suspend the inappropriately cheery jingling. He brushed off their efforts, waving them into silence, and they obediently paused. It was dismal, certainly, to see the usual energetic beings standing in resolute silence, but North couldn't bring himself to become too troubled over it. He wondered, faintly, whether they would survive the night—whether the nightmares, when they came for him, would crush the innocent beings in their ebony wrath.

Keeping that in mind, he paused near the middle of the darkened room, hefting his swords before slamming them powerfully into the floor. A tremor ran through it from the force, and, as he anticipated, all the elves' bright eyes immediately snapped around to fixate on him, the small flushed faces tense with confused alarm. He allowed a second for the confused ones to orient themselves, then began to speak.

"All of you," he declared, his voice low and alarmingly exhausted even to his own ears, "leave, now. Nightmares are coming. You must escape while you can."

The resulting looks, exchanged between the diminutive red-hatted figures, were startled to say the least. A few made unsure movements in the direction of the door, their small feet slipping on the polished wooden floorboards, but the majority remained fixed in place, as if they couldn't comprehend the words that he'd thought himself to have made incredibly clear.

"Go!" North bellowed, swiping a sabre through the air for emphasis. In a rushing sea of jingles, the elves hastened to follow his order, and soon the whole of the workshop was swamped with small figures rushing for the one exit. They were eager, when prompted, to save themselves, even if they didn't understand the full extent of the danger approaching them. It took only seconds for their scurrying forms to filter out, and then the workshop was left emptier than ever, resonant with hollowness. The arching ceilings, usually so full of light and flocked with wondrously colorful and impossible inventions, gave the impression of an abandoned medieval castle, and he could far too clearly envision massive cobwebs stretching across their dulled expanse—a fate that, doubtless, they were to reach after his ever-approaching transformation.

He sighed, and allowed that to be the only sentiment to escape him. It wouldn't be much longer now before they came—he knew that. He couldn't help but harbor a numb curiosity as to which would be sent to the job—whether Pitch himself would take the honors of destroying him, or if perhaps the duty would instead go to one of his twisted friends, if the Nightmare King would choose to make it as personal and painful as possible.

A soft scuffle disturbed the air behind him, upturning his thoughts, and he turned, heavy brows drawn over his crystal-pale eyes.

Standing behind one of the pillars, wide-fingered hands pressed against the worn wood, was a single yeti. The one, North thought, called Phil—one of the most dedicated of the Pole's guards, now looking almost ashamed underneath the fur cloaking his mournful features. His ears were flat against his head, and as North met his gaze, he let out a small, wordless noise—a sort of whining grunt, half questioning and half apologetic.

"Why are you still here?" North mused, the words partially for his own benefit. "I said leave. The rest are gone."

The yeti didn't move, and in that moment of silence, the utter nothingness that the workshop was so full of sent a sudden chill down North's spine, its true intensity only just beginning to press in on him. He swallowed, but made no further sign of weakness, instead stepping forwards and lifting his sword again. It wasn't a threatening gesture, not quite, but an insistent one, an authoritative one.

"There is no job here for you. Your work is done. It is over."

Still, no move.

"Over, you understand? Wonder is no more. Pitch is coming. You must leave."

The yeti considered him for a few more brief seconds, conflicted expressions tearing over his heavy, furred features in rapid succession. Then, with a massive huff of breath that trembled his shaggy shoulders, he dipped his chin in a nod, and limped towards the still-swinging door from which the elves had so recently fled. His hulking silhouette paused in it for a half-instant, buffeted with the snow-thick wind, then departed, the door thudding shut behind him.

North wasted no more time. He had no doubt now that the workshop was entirely empty, and he paced over to the beaten lift with his feet as heavy as his heart. It started up creakily, the shudders and whines of its unoiled gears echoing off the dark walls, and the melancholy noise made the ascent feel far too long, far too unsteady. Still, when the scuffed platform did line up with the second floor, it took a massive amount of willpower to coax himself out onto the ground. Every movement was taxing, emotionally more than physically, but both regardless. He could feel the weight of disbelief beginning to chip away at his usually mighty stature, and he found his shoulders to be hunched, his breath coming just a bit too fast as he limped towards his own room.

Unlike the rest of the workshop, it wasn't changed in the least. The ice sculptures which he'd been working on so dedicatedly before the insanity with Pitch even began remained in place, glittering silently, and the vibrant, warm colors of the wall and furniture were precisely as he remembered them. However, the softly welcoming interior couldn't put aside the massive darkness pulsating outside the wide, frosted windows—for there it was, thundering over the barren expanse of the tundra.

Nightmare sand.

It was a yawning, massive entity in and of itself, throbbing with power and producing an audible roar as it hurtled ever closer. Blue and purple streaked through the all-consuming black, its twisted currents occasionally leaping into the macabre forms of Pitch's emaciated horses, whinnying icily and tossing their heads in disfigured imitations of grace. The animal-like figures bobbed and melted, shifting back and forth from existence, some of them leering out in disgusting half-formation, but all remained tethered to the haunted cloud of darkness. It was a single thing, really, ferocious and deadly and powerful, and it was rushing straight towards the windows of North's last refuge.

Continuing to breathe steadily, he moved towards the chair in front of his worktable, settling into it with a slight groan as his joints ached and adjusted. He folded his hands on the table before him and let his head sink, eyes barely glancing up to keep track of the demented creatures' progress. They rushed closer, and the howling rose to a deafening level, so that he could hear nothing else, think nothing else.

This was it. The end had arrived.

And, in an odd, inherently contradictory but nonetheless undeniable way, he was not frightened.

Fear itself was pouring towards him at an ever-quicker rate, condensed into a solid form caught somewhere between liquid and gaseous ebony, pulsating with sick mightiness. He was instants from defeat, from virtual death, and yet he could not bring himself to be afraid.

He was sorry. Regretful. Ashamed that he and the other Guardians, in the end, had proved too weak to withstand the return of their greatest enemy.

Jack was surely turned by now, he acknowledged in some unimportant corner of his steady mind. He was the last one. Their last hope, their last dream, and this was it. He was past the point of so much as trying.

The nightmares collided with the wide windows.

Immediately, the shriek of shattering glass filled the air, and it exploded into the room in a gale of deadly sharpness. North didn't move, even as a stray shard flicked under his eye and left a stinging trail of blood behind, inching down his worn and into the tangles of his beard like a crimson tear. He lowered his head, making no move to stop the nightmares as they assaulted the delicate ice sculptures to which he had devoted so much glorious time, casting his masterpieces against the walls and washing the ground in a coldly sparkling sea of broken glass and ice fragments. Darkness crashed upon every surface and rushed towards his own hunched figure, swarming about him with grossly pressing proximity. He shuddered unwillingly, but made no other move as the freezing sand began to pour within him, seeping through his mouth and nose and ears, creeping around his eyes with a horrible burning itch that he could not bring himself to swat away.

It started as an ache, slow and steady, at his very center. Numbly cold, frostbitten. With the sort of even constancy that only came with confident pride, it began to creep out, filtering through his veins and muscles, shifting and transforming each hint of his being, reaching up into his throat, suffocating him. He could no longer feel his limbs, and wouldn't have struggled if he could. The black winds howling in his ears seemed to twist and morph until their sound was a high one, like the eerie laughter of children—a foolish metaphor, surely, for laughing was the precise opposite of what action the world's youths were soon to be consumed in and controlled by. And he, North, would assist in that. Because he had failed. Because they had all failed.

Still, no fear. Only hollow hopelessness. Bitter defeat. Sickening weakness.

The darkness writhing within him rose ever higher, overcoming his ears, rearing up behind his eyes and leaking over the tapestry of destruction that his beloved workshop had become. There was nothing, nothing as it leapt up to consume his very mind, stabbing and tearing away, wrenching him apart and piecing him back together like a battered ragdoll—taking nothing from his consciousness, but rather reforming it, morphing it into a wrecked imitation of its former magnificence, ripping apart his sacred, treasured wonder and tossing it back in a shattered mound of devastation.

It was a whirlwind of power that he couldn't have battled even if he was absurd enough to try, and in moments he found himself completely overtaken.


	8. Chapter 8

There weren't even any orders necessary for the nightmare Guardians to be aware of where they needed to meet up and why. The one-sided war between fear and the world had begun, and the soldiers knew that meeting at the base was a necessity. They all flew into Pitch's lair in their various ways of flight: North on his sleigh, Bunny through his tunnels, Sandy atop a cloud of sand, and both Jack and Tooth flying through the air. They moved, shadows in the dark, to stand in front of the globe, waiting for Pitch. None of them questioned that North was amongst them; they knew that was the inevitable change that would occur; he had been alone without a chance. Now they stood together, all completely reunited once again, waiting for Pitch.

"And now it starts," Bunnymund started solemnly, sniffing the air with a nod.

"Oh, don't be like that, Bunny," Jack chuckled, rolling his eyes at the rabbit beside him. His words glowed with the familiar teasing air that they normally held, but it was a ghost of the kind laughter that had once filled his eyes. His voice also had lost some of its warmth, a cruel edge biting away at every word, which was true for all of them. "You know it'll be fun. None of you have really had the experience of going out and doing things just for the fun of it."

"Jack, I don't think you really understand what we're doing here," Tooth twittered in a hiss. "This isn't some snowstorm or playtime; it takes a lot to conquer the world."

"Nightmare sand still hasn't settled, has it, mate?" Bunny grinned, his large teeth framing his grin.

"I didn't say it would be easy," Jack admitted, letting loose another spur of laughter. "I said it would be fun. And, yeah, I realize that we have a goal and deadlines and all that, blah, blah, blah. But let's be honest here! If Pitch wasn't around, we'd still be doing the exact same thing!"

"I don't follow," North muttered. "If Pitch was not here, we would still live in ignorance."

"Nightmares, nightmares, please!" Another voice sighed dramatically, stepping from the shadows. "Let's not bicker like children. It's like I never showed you the darkness in the first place! That's how you always used to be—a constant stream of childish bickering. I thought I made you better than that." Pitch emerged, shaking his head as he scolded the Guardians. "Come now, we have much better things to apply our effort towards."

This last phrase caused them all to stir to attention, all faces raised to meet Pitch's gaze. This was the real reason they were gathered here, not to hear the squabbles of one another, but to find out what their task was, what their path to victory was.

"Nightmares, this is our chance, our turn, to be believed in—with all the power and no limits to cross our paths!" Pitch promised, a steely glint glowing in those grey pupils that he possessed. "Nothing stands in our path besides our own selves and time. If we use this time, take advantage of every moment, we can shift the world to fear and nothing will be left but our darkness and despair!"

"What do we do?" North asked, looking up to their leader.

"Spread the fear," Pitch hissed softly, letting his words sink into the still air that soaked up the tones so fully. "Go to each and every child and make them afraid; tear down their dreams, fill their minds with fear, and reawaken the worst memories inside them. There will be no hope or wonder, nor dreams or happy memories—even fun will disappear into the frost." He paused, gazing around at them all to build up the dramatic effect.

"Go! Go, my nightmares! It is time for fear to rule the world!" Pitch shooed them away, his ovular eyes wide and glistening in the darkness, frightening enough to scatter the Guardians before him that were imprisoned behind their cage of fear. Each of them departed the way they came, this time going completely opposite directions to spread their fear even further. Tooth buzzed away on her wings; Jack departed through calling up the wind; Sandy flew off on his cloud; Bunny was transported through his tunnels; North rode his sleigh. One by one, they all went about to their tasks before them.

Sandy hardly even needed to move to spread his fear and agony into the world, but did so anyway so that he could get a better view of the awfulness he managed to construct. He rose high into the air, before glancing down at the world splayed out below him. It took him mere moments to begin to spin his webs of nightmare sand, which glistened with all of their brilliantly dark shades of blues and purples that mingled with the shimmering black. They fell down in ribbons, transporting themselves into the bedrooms of the sleeping and filling their heads with terrors selected for each child with special thought and horrors. Pitch may have been able to do this, but no one spun dreams like the Sandman.

* * *

Toothiana made her way to the closest town, since her mode of transportation was oftentimes the slowest. She looked down upon a group of children, who were playing around merrily in a park, bouncing a ball between them in a repetitious pattern of kicks, laughter and voices springing up around them. They didn't see her, couldn't anymore—no one had ever believed that the Tooth Fairy could possibly be evil. But Tooth knew that even if they couldn't see or hear her, she could still affect them if she went about it in the right way.

Tooth flew over to hover behind one little boy, so close that the child would have been able to feel the fairy's breath on his cheek if he had believed in her. She whispered in his unhearing ear, speaking of days that had gone by, experiences he knew well, and the horror and fear that had pulsed through him at the time. And although this child did not hear her, the presence of these words drifting through the air, stirred memories that he had long since buried. Flashes of images were brought to the top of his mind, a sister's laughter, a busy intersection, a bright red ball, and a car that had been moving too fast to stop soon enough... the little boy gasped, staggering back and missing the ball as it flew towards him, tears beginning to little the edges of his eyes.

"Oh, come on, Jimmy, we lasted so long that time!" a girl opposite from him groaned. "We went past a hundred and everything!"

"Sorry I just—I don't feel so well," Jimmy replied shakily, stepping back further from the group. "I just need to...sit down for a minute. I'll be fine in a bit."

"Are you sure?" the girl continued, her tone changing to concern.

"Yeah," he lied—for Toothiana knew that this wasn't something that a moment of sitting down could help at all, now since this memory had been brought back to the surface. Satisfied, she moved onto the next child.

* * *

Bunnymund was busy with his own group of small humans. These children were stuffed around a crowded table, hands shaking furiously at dice before continuing to move places across a brightly painted game board. None of them noticed Bunny hopping out of the ground, and no one felt his presence at all. Smirking at the lot of them, he fetched an egg bomb from his basket. Throwing it forward, it puffed into colorful smoke around one of the kid's faces, which caused the oblivious girl to take a deep sigh.

She couldn't make sense of the sudden sadness that had suddenly sprung within her. She was having a brilliant time as she had all night, and yet...this doubt had rooted inside her, reminding her that there should be something that for her to be sad about, biting away at her insides. There was nothing specific that she honestly needed to worry about, but everyone had their problems, and this prompt would cause her to search for them until they were upon her at full force.

Bunny reached into the basket for another egg.

* * *

Jack Frost sped through the air, his eyes directed towards the ground in attempt to find the perfect group of people to work his magic on. This was so completely new to him and Jack wasn't ashamed to admit he was filled with a sort of giddy excitement at the mere idea of this whole situation. Really, he had to wonder why he had needed Pitch to stir such simple joy within him.

Finally spying a group of children in someone's back yard, he flew to watch them from the overhanging roof. Each little kid was giggling merrily in their game of tag, chasing each other around the yard. Such joy amongst them stitched a niche into Jack's heart, causing hatred to flare within him. Twirling a snowflake between his fingers, he let it loose, so that it tumbled down and into the face of one child.

Frowning, this little girl stopped in her tracks, causing her friend to fall into her in mid-chase. "This isn't fun anymore, let's do something else," she complained, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Come on, Elsie!" the little boy behind her whined, lifting himself up off the ground. "You were having plenty of fun before!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not now, let's do something else," Elsie replied crisply, without being aware that the boredom that had thickened in a layer around her mind wouldn't be shaken away by simply changing the activity.

Satisfied in the displeasure he had caused here, Jack flew back into the sky, a laugh at his lips, and a snowflake at his fingertips. Boredom at a small scale may not seem that impressive, but for some children, nothing can be so terrifying and irritating as the lack of satisfaction at the playthings that so often cause such joy. This weighed heavily on a little heart, and was just as successful at spreading the displeasure as the rest of the Guardians.

* * *

North rode for the longest of them all for his first victims, having no need to stop because of tiredness or fatigue, since it wasn't his own two legs that carried him onwards. When he finally did rest, it was at two older children splayed out on a grassy hill, soaking up the warmth of the incoming summer. Before them lay a varied collection of pens and pencils, scattered about several pads of paper. The two were talking very intensely, their faces furrowed in concentration as they poured their every being into the drawings that bloomed from their markers and fingertips. Before North even did anything, he took a moment to watch them, feeling a slight pang stir inside him. This strange emotion didn't make much sense, but the other Guardians had assured him that they had felt similar things shortly after being changed, and that it was nothing to worry about. Taking a deep breath, he proceeded in what he knew was his task at hand. He sat down beside them, watching their pencils move for another second or two, before arching his neck forward to blow heartily into their ears, his breath penetrating into their brains, causing their inspiration to stop all together, stunting their very thoughts.

The first child looked up from her work, stunned by the sudden suppression of passion for it. It had just completely disappeared, with no reason and no warning, leaving her mind at an unsatisfied blank.

Standing back up, North's eyes twinkled with the light of a job well done. The others had been right: just ignore the slight murmurs negative emotions, and eventually they died before doing any harm.

Meanwhile Pitch watched from afar, miles and miles away, still in his lair. He didn't need to do any work at this point; everything necessary was done. Perhaps he would come out for a scare or two later, just for the joy of it, but nothing was needed for world domination on his part. With utter delight, he watched the globe, its etched surfaces shimmering in the darkness and the cold presence of his eyes. Ever so quickly, all those little gleaming lights were disappearing, one by one, and child by child.


End file.
